"Don't you think Konstantin Ivanovich is quietly calling the number listed in the ad from his cell phone right now?" Lisa whispered to me, pointing to the flyer in my hand.
I broke out in a sweat. I barely knew these people. Who knew how they'd react to a wanted poster? I headed resolutely toward my new acquaintance's house, flipping the safety off the Gyurza as I went.
The Krutovs' house was in full swing packing. Lyubov Sergeyevna Krutova was stuffing warm clothes into a large bag, her husband was cleaning and oiling a double-barreled hunting shotgun in the kitchen, and Yegor was retrieving some packages from the attic from a high stepladder. I hesitated, my disbelief taking hold, and paused in the doorway.
“I wanted to tell you about this ad so you wouldn’t be scared,” I began, embar
